Let them release hundreds of words, I keep the best verse,
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Fucking stupid style, a psycho knocked on your eardrums.
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Mr. No Mo today will be cheerful like a circus,
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Mr. Stick Tychy and the tongue are sharper and thinner than pedal strings.
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You make a sad demo, you're a sad guy, vile secrets,
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Fucking critic, you're sullen in sartire, biting your milky lips with your teeth.
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We will not change places, although not a fashionable bitch with sheets,
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I make music, rotate words, play with you while you are frozen there.
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But thin hands smelly cries do not like when I sound from the column,
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Their bottoms got wet, but I'll be loud, I'll be loud, I'll be loud.
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Don't look into my eyes, you don't need to be sad,
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I take off into the sky, but I fly with a high pulse.
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Do not look into my eyes, spit out all the song fragments,
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Anyway, I will know that we will be with you.
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You're not a legend, but a little MC needs songs that infuriate
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But the essence of these pressures, the cure for diseases, put on a hood for a second in place.
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But fast shooters eminent by the group are at least stupid to look for their support,
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I take a mouthpiece every morning I will be rude you will be a corpse.
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But I'm alone on the shoulders of the whole world outside the shop windows you see my fate,
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But I am alone on the shoulders of the whole world behind the window of the shop windows you see my fate.
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I, like a huge city, want to shut your mouth,
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I want to have the sound of notes in my area.
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Don't make me caress your temples, Akold,
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And pierce your hearts with a string, extinguish the chords.
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I just give a fuck about people wiped the paste with my hands,
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I will look at the swans and remember the stars go out.
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Fly over the steps of the shadows the last quick mortal,
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Do not interrupt the longing in your soul, it hangs on a paper clip.
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But I wouldn't like to lie to you that I'm standing behind a screen,
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Everyone who said that my brother was only scars.
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And I'm not evil, but just leaves flying at my feet,
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You will walk in my garden, f*ck, raise them higher.
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But I don’t understand why you go out in fashion,
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Look for ink marks leading to the roof.
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But we don’t run there, we write something at night,
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On the blade of knives, look for people with a wrinkle with makeup.
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He lay down on the trigger, leaving a handprint,
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Cut off the horn wires, I'll be next to the bitch!
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New paradise new home, only no cry,
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The psychic creature in me does not die of wounds.
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I see thousands of sheets of the limbs of the soul,
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Among the fragments of the dead kitchen scrawled life.
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This is my ward snorting, puking doesn't want to know
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When the great chief physician simply turns it off.
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I will bark, tear and roll with your loud explosion,
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Like a promise to love, don't make me gray.
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Bloody snow dances around me in red dresses,
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Will cover the bedroom, freezing remember we all pay.
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But I opened my eyes, saw red velvet everywhere,
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The capillaries of the strings thicken, and I clench my teeth.
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But I'm not the one who was yesterday, the humble hero of the songs,
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The fucking world among the punches flying at the feet, bald.
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It's more useful I crawl to the sounds of my screams,
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Among the corners of the chambers, I reject the world and psychos. |